Caught a Ghost
by baby blue eyes10
Summary: "I take a deep, unneeded breath, and turn towards the mirror, hoping to see myself. Instead, there is nothing there. No reflection. No me." What does it mean to be dead? What does it mean to be a ghost?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I really don't own this. After years and years of this shit you would think they'd know that by now...

Author's Note: Hello, my lovers! Mayhaps I should be updating other stories instead of starting new ones, but I really liked this story and it's been floating around in my head for awhile so I thought I would post a preliminary chapter and see if everyone else thought it was as good as I did. So, please have a read and let me know your thoughts. And as always, enjoy...:)

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"_Stop acting like this. You're being crazy?" I shake my head as I continue to move towards the stairs, the only way out of the house from the top floor. The door will be my sanctuary, the clothes in my suitcase the costume of my escape, but I have to make it out of his grip and down the stairs to reach it. "I said to stop." _

_The hand around the back of my collar pulls tightly and I fall backwards, my body rushing into the arms of my attacker. I struggle, but he knows me too well and he knows the way my body struggles. "Get off of me or I'll," I sputter but he spins me around, pinning my much smaller body to the wall. _

"_Or you'll what? That little wand of yours is lying broken on the floor. You think you can hurt me?" I look into the eyes that are so similar to my own. The same dark green irises, the same dilating pupils. His mouth curls into a cruel smile, and I wonder if I twitch my lips if mine will do the same. _

"_I can still do magic without it." I'm bluffing and he knows it. He takes a moment to laugh at my accusation, releasing me slightly. I take my opportunity to push away, scrambling towards the stairs. He reaches out for me, and I rush forward. He grabs for my leg and I trip. _

_The floor comes rushing up at me and I feel my head hit the first stair with astounding force. The stars that rush over my vision blind me, blinking black and white as I feel my body tumbling. I hear a crack as my hand smashes against the marble, and I roll faster. When my momentum stops, I'm lying at the bottom of the stairs. My suitcase lies a meter in front of me, next to the door. If I stand and run, I can make it out of the house._

_My body doesn't move. There's something wet dripping over my hair, into my eyes and lips. My father calls out to me from the top of the stairs but I can't move; I can't speak or breathe. I hear the footsteps, and I close my eyes, hoping that pretending to sleep will keep him away from me. _

_The footsteps stop and I can no longer open my eyes. And I realize, I'm dying. _

I wake up, feeling lighter than I have in months. I gather myself off the ground and feel my forehead. It doesn't feel lacerated or marred in anyway, and I wonder if I imagined falling down the stairs or if it was a dream. I know for a fact that there was blood in my mouth, although at the moment it seems to be fine, no tale tell taste of rust. There's crying from somewhere near me, and I walk forward.

My father is on the stairs, looking blankly at a spot on the floor while tears openly fall from his eyes. "Dad?" I ask, not understanding. He ignores me. I walk over to him and place my hand on his shoulder, but it doesn't connect, like a barrier has been put between our flesh. I try again with the same result. When I look at my hands, there's nothing wrong. I still see the pale white flesh that I always have seen. Except, I realize, that my nails are now nude and they were definitely painted green before I fell.

An unsettling feeling begins in the pit of my stomach, and I kneel down in front of my father again. "Dad, please?" I beg, but he continues to ignore me, like I'm not even there. His eyes remain on the spot behind me and I know what I will find if I turn around. Things start to click into place. It wasn't all a dream.

There is a bloody handprint on the wall of the staircase, crimson streaking down the marble steps. My father's face has a deep scratch on the side I had lashed out at. I take a deep breath, realizing I haven't been breathing this whole time and I close my eyes, slowly turning around.

A crumpled body lies on the ground; it's mine, I realize, or at least it was. The strawberry blonde hair is now a darker shade of red, blood pooling in the tresses as they spread across the floor. My left arm is bent in a strange way, and I stretch out my arm now, still intact and unharmed. The blood on my face is drying, peeling away but there are tear tracks through the red, and I touch my face, but it's dry as well.

I finally understand that I'm dead. The body is me.

My knees buckle beneath me as I sink to the ground next to my dead body. My mind drifts, trying to understand what is going on, why I'm still here when clearly the person on the ground so close in front of me is no longer alive. My eyes try to meet my father's but he looks right through me. We sit in silence for what feels like hours, but it could only be minutes.

How do you measure time when you're dead?

My hands rest on my jean clad knees; the tight denim is clean though the knees of the body in front of me are bloody and torn. My short brown boots are laced and zipped and unscuffed as well. The short-sleeved red t-shirt I'm wearing seems to be the same as before, not sticky or stained like the body in front of me. My hair feels clean, my face feels unscathed, but I know that I'm dead.

There's movement across from me as my father stands up and walks towards the kitchen. I stand, almost without realizing it, and make my way after him. No sound comes from my feet, and I know that even if I jumped up and down, if I threw plates and cups and smashed into things, I would remain silent. I wonder if I'll ever speak to someone again, or if it will just be me and my voice unanswered forever.

What does it mean to be a ghost?

My father reaches for the phone, placing his hand up to touch the bloody scratch on his cheek as he catches sight of his reflection in the window above the sink. I stand behind him, hoping to see my own reflection but there is nothing there. As he dials the numbers on the telephone, I make my way out of the kitchen. I cross away from the body on the floor, the large puddle of blood that is slicking the marble floor, and I walk through the living room into the bathroom.

My hands won't touch the handle, so I walk forward, hoping that something will happen and that I'll be able to enter the room even when my hands won't work. I hit the door with a thud, feeling it reverberate through my body. I try again, more deliberate this time, and I feel the wood give some, and then I'm sinking through like it's made of soft sand. When I open my eyes, I'm standing in the bathroom. I take a deep, unneeded breath, and turn towards the mirror, hoping to see myself.

Instead, there is nothing there.

No reflection.

No me.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the main character…and a small yacht where I spend my time toying around the Mediterranean (but, actually, not one of those either).

Quick Note and Hello – Thank you so much to those who have given this story a chance and have read and endured the first chapter. I hope that you are enjoying it so far, and that you look forward to reading on to see what more I have in store for you. As always, hello and thank you for your support. Now, please, enjoy. :)

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My funeral isn't exactly what I expect it to be.

First of all, I didn't think that I would be watching my body be lowered into the ground at the age of 17. Second, I didn't think that I would be standing directly next to the guests at my funeral, a measly six people including my father, my grandmother, my best friend, a priest, and two of the gravediggers.

At first, I plead with my father to see me. I beg my grandmother to open her eyes and stop looking through me. I ask Riley to hear me, to stop looking at my casket and believing that I'm stuck inside, gone from the world. Nothing results from my pleading, and so I stand opposite of the grave and watch as they lower my casket into the ground.

Riley's bloodshot dark blue eyes remain in my own eyesight long after my father, his cheek bandaged and his record clean after lying to the police about how I fell, has left. She sits in the folding chair that is sitting by my headstone, watching as my grave fills with dirt. She tucks her long black hair behind her ear, wiping away the last of the mascara from her eyes.

"Please, Rye," I whisper, knowing she won't hear me. Her eyes glance around, wandering over my standing figure. I realize she won't see me, won't listen to me, won't laugh at my jokes, pick out my clothes, or gossip with me ever again. My fists clench of their own accord while I grind my jaw tightly to keep the tears from springing into my eyes.

Riley says nothing, as the last of the dirt is placed upon my chestnut coffin which contains my cleaned up and dressed body. She looks down at her pocket, pulling something small out. I see the glint of the chain, recognizing the small "best friends" charm on the necklace we gave bought for each other for Christmas three years ago. We'd vowed that night that we would be best friends forever, no matter what happened.

I can't help the whimper that escapes my mouth as she drapes the chain over my headstone, touching her hand to my carved name, and then with silent tears on her face, walks away from the cemetery towards the car that waits for her on the road. My face burns with the salt from my tears as I walk over and trace my finger just above the locket.

I know my fingers won't touch the cool metal, but I long to touch it anyway. My legs slowly crumble beneath me, and I unceremoniously collapse under the darkening sky, watching as the tears that drip from my eyes disappear before they touch the ground. I'm a ghost of a dead girl; and I know, it would be easier if I could just disappear as well.

I end up outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the only place I know that contains ghosts of all sorts. Although, if I'm perfectly honest with myself, I'm not sure how I got here. The last thing I actually remember was laying on the newly turned dirt at my gravesite, closing my eyes and trying to think of a solution to my problem. The next thing I know my feet are pulling me up a path towards a large gate that I have had the fortune of seeing every year for the past six years.

The gate is shut, but as I walk towards it, my boots making no footprint in the mud, the gate swings open of its own accord. I take a deep breath, feeling something stir in the pit of my stomach that feels a lot like relief. I send up a silent prayer to whatever god is out there for the invention of magic. It strikes me as funny that when I was alive I would often do that; praise whatever god I had chosen to believe in that day. But now, as a ghost or a spirit or whatever it was that I am, I wonder if there could actually be a god. And if there was, did that mean that I could now communicate with him or her directly?

Things to think about later, I conclude, while making my way up to the large castle. I walk past the Quidditch field, and the first light of hope begins to filter into my mind. Hogwarts is a place of magic, is a place that has always felt like home to me when I couldn't have my life at my own home. And best of all, Hogwarts was home to the most powerful and genius-level wizard I had ever heard of: Albus Dumbledore. If he couldn't help me, then I was afraid no one else could.

I reach the castle doors, the Great Hall standing just steps in front of me, and I wonder for the first time since I've arrived at the castle just how to approach all of this. Do I knock on the door? If I knock on the door will anyone be able to hear it? Will my hand go right through? Should I just dissolve through the door as I've discovered I can?

I decide to take the most normal approach, stepping up to the enormous doors and knocking on them. As I suspect it will, my hand slides right through the wood without making contact. I pull myself back, the feeling of sliding through a solid object not one that I'll be able to get used to for quite some time, and I cross my arms in front of my chest. Deciding against trying to knock a second time, I grit my teeth and push myself through the door to the castle, feeling the magic held within the wood sink into my ethereal body.

Stranger than anything I've felt before, the magic courses through me, making goose bumps appear on my arms, my fingernails tingle, and my toes curl. It's pure, unadulterated magic housed within the walls and doors and every stone in between, and it feels like I have the power to do anything. But the feeling leaves me as I push out through into the entrance hall, and I feel the sudden jolt of nothingness once again.

Although being aware of my body and its movements had never been something that I truly wanted to think too deeply on when I was alive, now that I was a ghost, or something of the sort, I wished to be able to feel myself bump a doorway, or feel the fullness of my feet hitting the ground. I turn my thoughts away from the depressing direction they are taking, and I do a small turn around the amazingly large entrance hall.

It feels so much larger when alone, I note first and foremost, and the second thing I notice is that Hogwarts seems to be asleep. It's as if the castle itself is sleeping, gathering its strength for when the students arrive and it must perform for its guests once again; where it must unfold secret doorways, tapestries that lead to forbidden hideouts, and open its deepest self to hundreds of children eager for knowledge.

I move forward, towards the stairway, and I pause again. Knocking hadn't worked, but I had felt the magic in the school. I know what it can do. So maybe, if I allow myself to hope, calling out into the quiet would rouse someone into recognizing my presence? At least I could trouble the Bloody Barron to take a break to lead me to Dumbledore?

I clear my throat, clenching my fists together as I quietly utter, "Anyone there?" I shake my head at myself, knowing that wouldn't be loud enough for someone right next to me to hear. Biting down on my lip, I contemplate my courage and realize just why I was sorted into Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor – my smarts greatly outweighed my meager courage. _Do it_, I hear my mind scream at me, and so I open my mouth the second time, taking in a deep breath and letting my voice rise. "Hello? Is anybody there?" My voice feels like it reverberates off the walls, down the corridors and into the confines of the quiet castle. I feel my confidence rise and I yell again. "Please, can someone help me?"

There is no answer at first, and I start to panic. If no one can see me, then no one can help me. I don't want to be doomed to walk the earth alone and unseen for the rest of my ghostly existence. Then, out of the corner or my eye, a figure moves in the darkness. I pause the pacing I didn't remember starting and wait for it to approach.

"Hello?" I utter, timidness seeping into my voice, and I pray that whoever it is can hear me and see me. When no response comes, my heart begins to race, my eyes peering deeper into the darkness. There is no more movement, and then, without warning, she appears directly in front of me. A startled gasp escapes me, the squeaking bounding off the walls in a cacophony of embarrassment.

"You're the Grey Lady," I realize, taking a small step back to fully see the woman in front of me. She looks at me with a calculating stare, taking in my appearance, or lack of solidness, and then meets my eyes with a sharp gaze.

"You are a ghost." She states, nothing surprised in her voice. She is soft-spoken, but a commanding presence, and I note that her eyes look sad; unlike any I have seen on any of the other ghosts. I remember the stories, about why she is never seen, and I wonder what it is about me that made her come from her hiding spot, and then I realize she is still looking at me like she knows more than she lets out. "You are a student, are you not?"

"I am, or was, I guess," I realize that my voice is pitching, rising and falling in excitement. She can see me. She can _actually_ see me. "I died, obviously, and then I came back, but no one can see me and I can't touch or feel anything and I didn't have a place to go so I came here. But I'm not really sure what I'm doing and you're the first person I've talked to in _ages_ and," I pause my ranting as she turns away, walking daintily up the staircase and not looking back. I watch as she continues and then speak. "Uhm, where are you going?"

Unaware that I am doing so, I start to fade slightly as I think about whether or not I have disappeared from her view. Then, she speaks, reassuring me. "I am taking you to Dumbledore. It is why you came, is it not?" She doesn't turn around, only continues to stride away from me, and I take a moment before racing after her, climbing the stairs and skipping the trick step by habit. I wonder if I can now step on it without getting caught in its wood. A question to answer later, I think, as I notice the Grey Lady disappearing around a corner.

We make our way through the empty corridors, past sleeping portraits on the wall, and I realize that for the very first time since I came to Hogwarts six years ago, that I haven't had to pause for breath or gotten tired during our trek. Dying hasn't been easy, but I realize that perhaps it does have a perk. I'm smiling slightly to myself when I realize that we've stopped in front of the omnipresent Gargoyle that guards Dumbledore's office.

It springs to life as the Grey Lady clears her throat. "I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore." There is no please, no question in her voice, only a command that the Gargoyle can do nothing but follow. It moves aside, and the winding staircase appears.

My heart begins to race against my chest as we near the top of the stairs. My palms feel damp and nervousness begins to color my vision. If Dumbledore doesn't help me, I'll have nowhere left to go, I realize, and that pressure feels enormous against my throat. The Grey Lady reaches up and knocks on the door, her knuckles making solid contact with the wood. Envy runs into my veins. And then as I begin to lose faith in ever finding a solution to my death, a voice rings out from the other side, one that immediately sets my feelings at ease.

"Come in."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the OC, and even then she has a mind of her own so I can't really own her either.

Author's Note: Hello, all! Sorry for the delay in chapters. Sometimes life catches up to me and says something along the lines of 'work, work, work,' instead of 'play, play, play.' Anywho, here is chapter 3 of Ghost where we learn the name of the OC at last and get to learn some of the rules of the ethereal world. As always, your thoughts are appreciated! Thanks to all who reviewed, and of course, please enjoy. :)

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I follow the Grey Lady as she enters Dumbledore's office. The door stays open and I realize with some humor that this is the first door I've passed through while it's been open in the last week that I've been a ghost. The relief of not having to pass through the wood makes me want to cry. As the Grey Lady approaches, Dumbledore looks over his half-moon glasses and his eyes widen imperceptibly. I don't know what to say, so I stay silent, waiting for him to say something instead.

"I must say Miss Alexander, not many students have passed through my door in such an interesting manner." At the gaping of my mouth and the tears in my eyes, Dumbledore seems to come to a conclusion. "This must be the first encounter with a person of the living persuasion, is it not?"

"You can see me?" My voice wavers, and I don't know exactly what to do. Should I stand closer? Should I break down into tears? I settle for closing my shaking hands into fists so that he cannot see them trembling.

"Indeed I can, dear girl. Please, come and have a seat." He motions to the chair in front of his desk, and I eye it warily before stepping forward. The Grey Lady offers me a miniscule upturn of her lips, and then slowly disappears out of the office.

"I don't think I can sit, sir. I have a bad habit of sinking through the chair." I cast my eyes away from his, glancing around at the portraits on the wall that are now staring at my ghostly form and Dumbledore's human one. Shame fills me slightly, wondering why even in death I feel useless.

Dumbledore stands and walks over to the corner of the room. I watch, just noticing the Phoenix that is perched on a small swinging cage. Dumbledore strokes the crimson feathers, and the bird nuzzles his hand in return. "How long have you been dead, Miss Alexander?"

My breath falters, and it feels like something is piercing into my chest at the word dead. Every time I have thought about it since falling down the stairs, I ignore the word, not letting it have any hold over me. However, when someone else says it, it feels all too real, and I feel myself starting to drift. If possible, it seems like my form gets lighter, until I am invisible to even myself. I start to panic, feeling bile rise in my throat though I know that it's impossible.

I start to look around, and the room spins faster, almost as if it too is disappearing from my vision. Darkness begins to overtake me and then, almost as if I've walked into the lights of an oncoming train at night, a bright light shines in my eyes.

"Gwenevieve." A firm voice calls my name, and I blink my eyes rapidly, clearing them of the light and the darkness until, finally, I am standing back in Dumbledore's office, a ghost but visible, it seems, once again. "Please, sit down my dear." I follow Dumbledore's voice, sitting without hesitation.

"What happened?" I ask, unsure of what is happening but feeling shaky and entirely off balance.

"As a ghost it is essential that you remember at all times that you may not be wholly alive but a part of yourself lives on. When you let that slip away, you fade." He motions at me to look at myself and I do. My jeans and brown boots are the same as they were the night I died, as is my red t-shirt. My hands and arms are visible again, and by shaking my head I can feel my long hair as it brushes against my back.

"If I fade will that mean the end of, whatever this is?" I ask, unsure of if I want to know the answer. If I can fade away with such ease, why haven't I actually died fully?

"This part of you that lives on, the ethereal part, will remain but in an altered state that will, I'm afraid, consume you and drive you mad." I feel my eyes widen and fill with tears, and Dumbledore lowers his glasses to meet my eyes without interruption. "You must fight the fade, Gwenevieve, for the sake of your sanity."

I swallow down the panic again, taking a deep breath and nodding at the headmaster who looks entirely too relaxed about the whole situation. "How can you see me?"

Dumbledore smiles, and clasps his hands together. "Hogwarts possess a certain kind of magic, one that makes things appear when they have altogether disappeared."

"So everyone will be able to see me then? When school starts again?" My hope rises, thinking of seeing Riley again. I can convince her that I'm not dead, tell her the real story, have her talk to me again. I know that hope is shining from my eyes like a beacon, but Dumbledore's smile does not mirror my own.

"There are two things to remember about your ethereal life, Miss Alexander. A ghost can only be seen if one is made to believe in the ghost; and until you believe in your ability to do something you will not be able to achieve it." He motions to where I am sitting. "For example, you are sitting perfectly in the chair without falling through because you believe that you can do it. You can touch this desk with your hands, should you believe that you can do it."

I realize that what he is saying is true. I could walk up the stairs and through the gate at the school because I knew that I could do it. I could sit in the chair without thinking because it made sense in that moment. I gather my inner strength and move to place my hand on the desk. While I do so, I think of all the times in the past that I have been able to do it, and when my hand reaches the dark wood, I feel it underneath my palm, without sinking through the wood.

As my fingers grip the hard wood, I feel something settle inside of me that seem more solid, like it's anchoring me in place. I feel less like floating away and more like an actual being. "Does this mean I will be able to open the door now? And touch people?"

"Should you believe that you might do it, then yes. However, when it comes to living beings, unless they believe in you as a ghost, they will only feel the whisper of your touch, making it seem like an act of wind, or a sudden shiver. Until they believe that you exist, they will not be able to feel or see you." Dumbledore responds, watching again as the hope flares and wanes in my eyes.

"But that's a start," I say, refusing to be pushed down again. "How then, Headmaster, can you see me? Please." I say because it feels like I am demanding something of Dumbledore, who deserves nothing if not my respect.

"Certain magical beings, werewolves, giants, and others, will be able to see things that the average witch or wizard will not see. I happen to be one of the few that find it easier to see the ethereal." My head nods as I remember this piece of information. Dumbledore is an extraordinary wizard, holding within him a special kind of magic that gives him power beyond what many will ever achieve.

For the first time in a week, I begin to feel tired, wondering what it would be like to sleep again. As if sensing this, Dumbledore stands and without my expecting it, takes my hand. My eyes open wide, as I feel his flesh meet mine. His hand feels warm, warmer than I can ever remember a person feeling, and I look up into his eyes, able to feel some sort of power rushing through him.

"Thank you," I tell him as I feel the tears begin to drip from my eyes. They make no marks as they fall from my cheeks to the floor, and I am reminded that even through all of this, I am still a ghost.

"You are welcome to stay in the castle as long as you like, Miss Alexander. Please feel free to make Hogwarts your permanent home on your journey." I nod; clearing my throat and Dumbledore pats my hand before releasing it. I stand, and move towards the door, realizing that I have no clue where to go after this. As if sensing this, Dumbledore says from behind me, "The Room of Requirements is a good place to start."

I turn to give him a small smile, moving towards the door and reaching for the handle. The brass meets my fingers, and I feel myself strengthening. I resolve to myself as I pull the door open to remember that I may not be alive but that I'm not dead. I walk down the stairs and listen to the portraits in Dumbledore's office erupt to life as the door closes behind me.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own naught which you recognize.

Author's Note: Okay, first it's been a year since I updated and I'd like to have an excuse for that, but I really don't other than the fact that I've got a full-time job to stress me out, and bills to pay, and I just don't get inspired like I use to! But, here I am, back at you with hope and love in my eyes, that you'll accept me like you always have. I promise to be better to you this time around! Second, this chapter goes fast, like we're covering two months here! The next chapter, however, will be slower, as the meat of the story will really begin in chapter 5! So, without further ado, Chapter Four!

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I meet my first ghost while I'm walking through the Room of Requirements. The Gray Lady dropped me here before she left for the Ravenclaw Tower, and I'm stuck trying to decide on what room I'd like to call my own for, well, ever. There is a slight crash, and I jump, fading slightly in visibility while a loud voice starts to curse a suit of armor.

"Excuse me?" I call out, trying to make my presence known. The man looks up, seemingly startled that anyone is talking to him, and he beams while straightening. I notice that he's carrying something stuffed deep into a shoulder bag, looking for everything I know like a head. I grimace and look back to the ghost in front of me.

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your very esteemed service, madam." He bows down, and I can't control my gasp as his head comes flying from his shoulders towards the floor. It doesn't fall completely off, and I'm left looking straight at the spinal cord and the muscles that surround it. I feel like I'm about to faint, and I realize that my breathing has become strained.

"Are you quite alright?" I ask quickly as he straightens, nudging his head back onto his shoulders with a quick jerk. He gives me another smile, then pats the bag next to him, almost like a reminder to himself. This time, I definitely notice a shock of coal black hair hanging out of the satchel.

"Well, I'm dead and with my head still mostly attached so I would say I'm quite fine, my dear. Now that you know my name, I'm quite interested in knowing yours." He clasps his hands behind his back, looking at me expectantly.

"Gweneveive Alexander; I'm a student here at Hogwarts." He looks at me skeptically and I refocus myself. "Was a student here." I motion down my ethereal body, and then shrug my shoulders. "I died."

"Yes, that I can see. Well, at least you still have your head." He grins slyly, but stiffens as the sounds of horse's hooves echo in the room. "I must be off, Gweneveive Alexander, but may we meet again!" He takes off at a sprint, holding close to the bag on his hip, and I watch in amazement as a large black stallion carrying a head-less knight rides by, making my hair ruffle in the wind he produces. It finally clicks that Sir Nicholas is the famous Nearly Headless Nick, Gryffindor's house ghost, and one that I had never met before this.

I sigh to myself as the excitement wanes, and I long for a comfortable armchair to rest in, though I don't truly feel like sleeping. Suddenly, the room transforms into a small, but cozy room resembling the one I lived in growing up. My eyes tear up as I see the teddy bear that I had had since childhood sitting on a large tufted armchair next to a large fire place that hadn't originally been there.

Sitting, I grab the bear in my arms, holding tight and using my willpower to keep it in my hands. Then I close my eyes as the fire warmed me. I had learned that I would never truly sleep as a ghost; that when I close my eyes, it's almost as if my soul drifts in and out of the corporeal world and into that of the pure ethereal. It is a strange feeling, but seemed to keep me from becoming truly crazy.

The days pass quickly, and I learn more from the many ghosts around the castle, each night returning to the Room of Requirements, a place had I seemingly claimed as my own when I arrived at the castle. Hogwarts without students was boring, and I spent my days wishing for a time when I had things to fulfill myself. When I could meet Riley at the park and lounge in the sun, gossiping about our other classmates, and keeping an eye out for any attractive muggles that might be out.

My second meeting with Dumbledore comes directly before school is set to begin. I am called to his office where I find myself face to face with my old head of house. Professor Flitwick stares directly through me, and I pass my hand in front of his face to see if he will react. The headmaster eyes my actions with a slight twinkle in his eyes, and then slides a picture across the desk to Flitwick.

"Ms. Alexander has joined us now, Filius, so if you would be so kind as to have a look at this picture." Flitwick does as he says without hesitation, and when he next looks up around the room, he is staring directly at me.

"Gwen," He says with surprise, and I find myself smiling at the smaller man, trying to contain my excitement at being seen again.

"Professor," I say, my voice thick with emotion.

"Gwen, Filius will be your guide at Hogwarts while school is in session, for those times when I am unreachable. Should you need anything at all, he will be there for you." I nod at Dumbledore, holding onto the arm of the chair in excitement. Someone else that I will be able to have a conversation with; a _real_ person, not just another ghost.

When the meeting ends, I find myself walking with the bane of most students' existence at Hogwarts, Peeves. While the friendship was at first him providing me with false information about all things ghostly, over the month I had resided at the castle, we have become fast friends. "Gwendy," He wines, and I glance over at his floating form. I have yet to master the art of floating, or flying, as most ghosts in the castle do. Every time I tried, it was as if something was weighing me back to the ground. Part of me wanted to believe that it was my human-ness trying to return to my body, but the other part of me knew that I was dead, and in all likelihood, would stay that way.

"Yes?" I keep my answer simple; while Peeves was my friend, he would just as soon make fun of me by mimicking my voice as he would actually ask me a question.

"What will you do when the students return tomorrow? It takes some time for the students to believe in you," He pauses, floating a little higher while he thought. "Though that might not be a good thing seeing as you're actually one of them."

"I know." I close my eyes, taking a deep breath that flows through my ghostly body like it's leaking out of my pores, and I think hard. There is a ghost in the castle that I befriended, that lives in the dungeons. She was killed long ago by a fellow student that was accidentally practicing charms she shouldn't have been practicing. Her name was Mary, and though she was killed in the early years of Hogwarts' founding, she despised not being able to keep up with the fashion and the times. She had taught me, early on when she found me wandering the castle alone at all hours of the night, how to change my ghostly appearance. I hadn't mastered the full extent of her teachings yet, but I could do small things.

When I open my eyes, I am wearing a thick jumper instead of my tee shirt. As a ghost, my body is never actually cold, but the act of tucking my hands into my sleeves is a comforting one, even though I feel nothing from it. Peeves is floating ahead of me, talking along like he didn't realize I had fallen behind. "You should see them from my perspective. They never know you're there unless you want them to know, and they get into quite a bit of trouble when they don't know," I hurry to catch up, pausing with him as we stand in front of the door to my lair.

"Do you only ever think about those boys?" I ask, having heard the story numerous times. Peeves blows a raspberry at me, and flies away, cackling to himself. I continue my walk, pausing to look out over the grounds of the castle. Everyone inside seems to be vibrating with excitement about the students coming back, but all I feel is trepidation.

I'm standing in the Entrance hall when the doors swing open, revealing students and teachers alike, all rushing inside like they're coming home after a long absence. I hold the breath I don't need deep in my dead lungs as I catch a shock of curly black hair and mocha skin. Riley walks right past me, and I reach for her, though nothing connects. She seems to shake off anything she might have felt, almost like a sudden gush of wind had touched only her. I curl my arms about myself, retreating back to my rooms, feeling cold tears leak from my eyes.

I follow Riley sometimes, when there is nothing else to do. She fields questions about my death, although there aren't many who ask. She makes new friends in the other girls in our dorms, having nights in where they gossip about boys, and the going-ons in the social hierarchy of seventh year. I sit on the edge of the bed with them, listening, missing the days when I could have joined in.

Peeves notices my sadness while we're stalking the Marauders one day, and I stick to the shadows even though I know they can't see me. I watch the tall, thin brunette that Riley blushes at the name of, and wonder what it is that she finds so attractive in his scarred face. I realize that had I still been alive, I probably would have teased her about him, though now when I look closer, he is handsome in a different kind of way.

"What's got you down, Lady Gwen?" Peeves laughs at what he assumes to be a clever joke. He's taken to calling me 'Lady' as soon as he realizes my name is a play on Genevieve and King Arthur. I stifle my urge to yell at him, having heard these many jokes my whole life, and keep my eyes on the people ahead of us.

The Quidditch Captain in glasses looks up, but his friend, shorter in height by about an inch, and slightly more muscled, brushes his long black hair out of his eyes and mutters something about it just being Peeves. "Keep your voice down, you lummox." I whisper, and Peeves just laughs louder.

"Don't be so upset about being a ghost, little Gwen, otherwise you'll float off into the abyss, and then where would we be in our lessons?" He cackles again, swooping down to knock the glasses off the tall Marauder. James, I repeat to myself, James Potter.

The lessons he's talking about are my education in all things Marauders. The poor ghost is obsessed with these boys, and had I not realized that Peeves' penchant for mischief had never been fulfilled in real life, I would have been annoyed. But it was fun to have something to do during the day, when the doldrums of ghostly life became too much. I couldn't spend my whole time following Riley around; I was starting to feel like I was haunting her.

I edge closer, not having mastered flying anywhere as high as Peeves could, and listen while the boys tell Peeves to bugger off. They're huddling over what appears to be a very old piece of parchment, and I stop in my tracks as the one Peeves refers to as Messer Black turns to look directly at me. My breath catches in my throat, but he turns to look back at the parchment without having seen me.

"I think the map is buggered, Prongs. I've never heard of this chick in my life, and yet, here she is on our map, standing less than a meter behind us." He runs his hand through his hair, and my eyes widen. How had I not realized that they were holding the infamous Marauder's map? And I couldn't believe that I showed up on it. Hope springs into my heart, until I realize that unless they believed I existed, they would never truly see me.

Waving quickly to Peeves, I walk away, trying again to find some sort of hope in being a ghost.

It's Halloween, and I'm following Riley and her friends to the Room of Requirements, that has been taken over for the night by the Marauder's, preparing for a Halloween party of epic proportions. Riley is dressed like a witch, laughing at the irony of it. I had played a small part in her costume change, having knocked the window into the room open and spilling an entire vat of nail polish onto her 'sexy cat' costume. We would have never gone as scantily clad as her new friends, and though Riley occasionally wrote in her journal about missing me, she had stopped bringing me up at sleepovers.

I felt that, if she was going to slowly become a new person, I still wanted to occasionally see my old best friend. It was selfish of me, because Riley wouldn't see me again, unless I could convince her I was still here, but there was a part of me that wanted to hold onto something. I didn't want to just slink into the shadows and be a ghost with only ghost friends for the rest of my life.

They enter the party, and I watch as she and the other seventh years went to the dance floor, squealing as they meet other party goers. James Potter and Sirius Black are holding court in the middle, and they wink at the new girls, James sneaking glances every few moments to Lily Evans over in the corner with a Gryffindor boy I didn't know.

I walk to the table off to the side, looking envious of all the different party wares spaced on the table in front of me. I'd kill for a sugar quill, and I'm looking at it with longing when I hear a voice from next to me.

"Not a fan of costume parties?" I continue to look over the table, until my eyes meet a pair of golden orbs and I realize that the man dressed as a vampire next to me is actually speaking to me.

"Sorry?" I say, breathless, and he laughs.

"It's just you're not wearing a costume." He grins and reaches across me, grabbing the sugar quill I had been eying.

And it's then that I realize that this boy, Remus Lupin, is looking right at me, not through me, and he's smiling at me, and talking to me.

And he _sees_ me.


End file.
